The Dream
by Cortney-Elznic
Summary: Jack plays a card game with his old man. One-shot.


Jack looked down at his cards through the plume of blue cigarette smoke: an ace and a four. He glanced at the cards on the gazebo table before him: jack, eight, seven, ten, and a four. The tip of the cigarette hanging from his lips glowed as he took a thoughtful drag from it; he blew the smoke out of his nose.

"C'mon, son. Play your hand."

Across the table, his father grinned at him, his eyes alit with a damning confidence.

"What, you in a hurry to lose this round?"

John guffawed as he picked up the shot glass on the table to his left. He threw back the shot, then picked up the bottle of whiskey on his right and filled the glass back up. "Well, ain't you just a little cocky tonight," he chortled. "Either that or you're shit outta luck."

Jack lifted his chin. He knocked on the table. "What you got, then?"

John laid his cards on the table and smirked. Two jacks.

"Son of a bitch," Jack growled and tossed his cards on the table. He grumbled as he plucked the cigarette out of his mouth with his right hand, picked up his shot glass with his left and downed it, then reached across the table and retrieved the bottle. Shaking his head, he poured himself another shot.

His father laughed and brought his cigarette up to his lips. "Better luck next time, son."

Jack frowned as he gathered up the cards and began shuffling them. He dealt them quickly, hoping to beat his old man this time.

As he picked up his cards, John chuckled, "I thought I taught you how to play poker."

"You did, but it's the luck of the draw. You know that."

"Yeah," he answered as he looked at his cards. John did the same, and for a moment, they sat studying them in silence.

John raised the bet to ten; Jack called then drew three cards and set them face up in the center of the table. Five, queen, and a two.

"That was nice of you, son. Thank you."

"Oh, bullshit, old man."

"I'll raise."

"C'mon, Pa. You can't have _that_ good of a hand."

"What if I do? Call it, then."

Jack did, then drew another card, a seven. He drew again and laid down a king.

"HA! Beat _that_, Pa!" Jack proclaimed as he laid his cards on the table.

"Well played, boy," John said as he reached across the table and collected the cards. He shuffled, dealt, and threw back another shot of whiskey. He looked at his son's empty glass and poured him a shot. "You've earned it fair and square."

Jack tossed back the shot and grinned triumphantly. "Looks like I'm on the up."

"The game's not over yet," his father said and took a long drag off his cigarette. The smoke coiled up and around his hat as he dealt the cards. "How's Maddie doin'?"

"She's doin' good."

"Still as feisty as always?"

Jack nodded. He took another drag off his cigarette and let the smoke roll out of his mouth.

John looked out past the gazebo at the ranch. "Looks like this place is doin' good. You're doin' great, son. I'm proud of you."

Jack blinked. "Thanks, Pa."

"Now all you gotta do is give me some grandchildren," John laughed.

Jack blushed and ran a hand over his face. "Jesus Christ, Pa." He took a hasty drag off his cigarette and glanced at his cards: an ace and a king. He grinned.

"I'm just kiddin'," John said as he drew three cards and laid them on the table: ten, five, and a jack. He glanced at his cards.

Jack raised the bet, as did his father, then Jack called. John drew another card, an ace.

Jack pushed his chips towards the center of the table.

John blinked. "All in?"

"Oh, yes."

"You sure?"

Jack nodded, his grin widening.

John called, then drew the last card: a ten.

Jack smiled brightly. "I've got you beat, old man," he declared as he showed his cards.

His father smirked. "Hate to break it to you, son, but Lady Luck is on my side tonight." He showed a jack and a ten.

"Goddamn it!" Jack yelled and slapped his cards on the table.

"Guess I'm on the up now," his father laughed. He finished cigarette, snubbed it out on the gazebo railing, and flicked it off to the side. He picked up the bottle of whiskey and filled their glasses. "You wanna play a few more rounds?"

"Only if I get to beatin' you," Jack replied. He shuffled and dealt angrily.

The game lasted for three more hands, with John coming out the victor. When the bottle was half-empty and the pack of cigarettes all but smoked between them, John stood up from his seat and stretched. "Well, I suppose I'd better get goin'," he said with a yawn.

"So soon?" Jack asked as he stood up as well. He collected the cards and set the deck in the middle of the table.

"Yeah. Your ma is expectin' me back any time now."

"Tell her I said 'hi', and that I love her."

"Will do."

Father and son met gazes, then shook hands.

"I'll see you 'round, son. Take care of yourself and your little missus."

Jack smirked. "It was good seein' you, Pa."

John returned the smile. "You, too, son. You, too." And he turned and walked down the gazebo steps. As he walked away into the night, his body faded away, leaving nothing but his bootprints, but even then, those began to disappear as well. Jack watched him go with a bittersweet smile, then picked up the shot glasses, whiskey bottle, and the deck of cards and headed inside the house.


End file.
